


Trope Meme Ficlets

by alpheratz



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Amnesia, Bodyswap, Crossdressing, F/F, Fake Marriage, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Sibling Incest, Telepathy, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpheratz/pseuds/alpheratz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trope meme ficlets: bodyswap, pretending to be married, crossdressing, genderswap, amnesia, truth or dare, telepathy, huddling for warmth</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gerard+Mikey (gen) bodyswap, pg

**Author's Note:**

> Trope meme ficlets originally posted [here](http://alpheratz.dreamwidth.org/111973.html). Use the [chapter index](http://archiveofourown.org/works/520774/navigate) to navigate.
> 
> 1\. Gerard+Mikey (gen) bodyswap, pg  
> 2\. Patrick/Gerard pretending to be married, pg  
> 3\. girl!Gabe/girl!Pete genderswap, nc-17  
> 4\. Patrick+Travie (gen) crossdressing, pg  
> 5\. Pete/Gabe amnesia, pg  
> 6\. Gerard/Mikey truth or dare, pg  
> 7\. Gerard+Mikey (gen) telepathy, pg  
> 8\. Frank/Mikey huddling for warmth, pg

Mikey realized that he was in Gerard's body when he opened his eyes and the tattoos on the arm of the person sleeping beside him were all wrong. His hair was also the wrong color.

"Lindsey." Mikey shook her. "Lindsey, wake up."

Lindsey murmured something from the depths of the comforter.

"I'm not Gerard," Mikey said, sitting up. " _Lindsey_."

Lindsey rolled over, finally, and her eyes flew open. "What the hell, Mikey?" She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest.

Mikey pressed his hand to his eyes. "I'm not looking."

"Oh," Lindsey said in an embarrassed voice. "I'm actually wearing a t-shirt. Never mind."

Mikey lowered his hand and looked at her cautiously. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her without makeup. It didn't seem like something she'd choose to show him, and he felt uncomfortable, like he'd accidentally witnessed something private.

Lindsey was looking at him curiously. "You really look like yourself right now, not like him. Your faces are more similar than it seems."

"Huh." Mikey looked around for a mirror.

"In the bathroom." Lindsey hopped out of bed - shit, her t-shirt was short - and opened the bathroom door, waving Mikey over.

Mikey tried making one of Gerard's photoshoot faces in the mirror.

"See?" said Lindsey. "You're not very good at that."

"Thanks," said Mikey. "Where are Gee's keys?"

"Probably in his jeans. On the floor."

The jeans were just outside the bedroom door. Mikey picked them up and raised his eyebrow at Lindsey. She blushed. "I guess you should put those on."

Mikey passed Bandit's room on the way downstairs. He tried to creep past it silently, but she was already up and playing with a stuffed squirrel on the bright red rug in the middle of the floor. She looked up at him and smiled so big it would be painful for anyone else. "Bye, Uncle Mikey!" she shouted.

"Bye, honey," Mikey said. "Be good."

Mikey found Gerard in Mikey's bathroom, making faces in the full-length mirror.

"You're naked," said Mikey.

"You should wear pajamas to bed." Gerard craned his neck and gave the mirror fuck-me eyes. Mikey didn't know he _had_ fuck-me eyes.

"Is Alicia still asleep?" Mikey asked.

"She woke up and told me to sort it out." Gerard frowned at Mikey's body in the mirror. "Then she went back to sleep. Is she going to yell if we don't fix it? I don't know how we're gonna do that."

"Maybe one of us has to learn a valuable lesson."

"I guess," said Gerard skeptically. "Which one of us?"

Mikey went to get Gerard some pants, thinking hard. "Have you wished you were me lately?"

"Not more than usual," said Gerard, pulling on Mikey's jeans and tee. "Have you wished you were me?"

"Definitely not," said Mikey.

Gerard nodded and put on Mikey's flip-flops. "Maybe it was Frank or Ray. We did have a productive day at the studio yesterday."

"You mean you argued until they agreed with you about that key change."

"Like I said."

Mikey pursed his lips. "Let's make that our working hypothesis."

"Cool," said Gerard and made a gimme motion towards the car keys. "Starbucks first, though?"

Mikey nodded and handed over the keys. That was a good phase one.


	2. Patrick/Gerard pretending to be married, pg

Gerard was a sucker.

"Do it for me?" Mikey had asked when the tape of him and Wentz kissing outside a tent on Warped leaked and the music reporters descended upon them like a technologically advanced swarm of locusts.

Now, Gerard was holding Patrick Stump's hand and reciting the story he'd come up with to the kid from Rolling Stone.

"Whirlwind romance, you know how it is. Summer heat, awesome music - it'd be hard not to fall in love, right, baby?"

Patrick glowered at him, but his hat was pulled down low on his forehead, so the Rolling Stone kid didn't see.

"Right!" said Gerard, beaming. "So we got married backstage at the end of the tour. Well. We exchanged vows. And things."

"Rings?" asked the kid.

Gerard lifted his and Patrick's joined hands. "We got them at the mall."

"What's your problem?" asked Gerard, cornering Patrick in the bathroom after. "The diversion won't work if you don't look happy to be married to me."

"Because this is fucking stupid. The only thing remotely entertaining about this is that anyone believes your dumb story. Whirlwind romance? Seriously?"

Gerard never said it was a _good_ diversion, but he would have appreciated some credit for pulling it off. "You agreed to this, so why are you being such an asshole?"

Patrick stepped back and looked away. "Clearly you've never had Pete ask you for shit."

Gerard shook his head and crowded Patrick against the wall. Patrick looked up at him, blue blue eyes and a scowl. "You volunteered. You didn't even argue. What's your deal, Stump?"

Patrick bit his lip and released it with a soft wet noise, and then pushed up on his toes and kissed Gerard, immediately pulling away and pasting the scowl back on. "Happy now?"

Gerard licked his bottom lip and blinked. "That's why you were a dick?"

Patrick deflated. "Yeah."

Gerard beamed like he did during the interview, except this time it was for real. "I don't think I totally get it," he said. "Explain it to me again," and leaned in to kiss Patrick for real, too.


	3. girl!Gabe/girl!Pete genderswap, nc-17

Pete's picking at her nails across from Gabi, flicking flakes of old nail polish on the floor.

"Dude, we don't have a vacuum cleaner on the bus. Give it a rest."

Pete looks up guiltily, big round eyes under dark bangs, and shifts in her seat. "Sorry."

"It's cool," says Gabi. She's working on letting the little things go, being a better person and shit.

They're alone on the bus. The 100-degree heat had made everyone pile out of their buses with the entire tour's supply of super soakers. Gabi had been well on her way to winning the impromptu wet t-shirt contest when Pete found her and dragged her onto Cobra's bus.

Pete's working up to something. She's certainly so fidgety that Gabi's skin is starting to crawl. Maybe it's the A/C on her wet skin giving her goosebumps, but she kind of wants to tie Pete's wrists together and tell her to stay. "Spit it out."

Pete takes a deep breath and bites her cuticle. "Okay, last week. When we, you know."

Gabi's eyes automatically drop to the crotch of Pete's shorts. She drags her eyes up with effort. Pete had crashed in her bunk that night, and in the morning, when they were still half-asleep but dead-sober, Pete kissed her and Gabi rolled them over and made Pete come grinding into Gabi's bare knee. She's still not sure if Pete had just gone along with it because it was easy.

"It's cool," Gabi repeats now. "I know you don't want that."

"It just feels unfair," Pete says, smoothing down the front of her tank top. "You didn't even get off."

"I have two hands and a vibrator, yo." Pete's still looking at her with big worried eyes, so Gabi adds, "I got your back. You don't have to do anything for me. I know you've got your, you know, above the waist thing," -- Gabi grabs her own tits in emphasis -- "so, really, no handling of my vag is required. It's cool."

"Let me finish," says Pete forcefully. She looks like she surprised even herself. "I want to try."

"You want to try what?"

"You know I love you." Pete sits up and her boobs bounce in her tank top. Gabi's been meditating, perfecting her self-control, so she totally doesn't look.

'I know, Petey," Gabi says. "I love you too."

"Well, I've been thinking about it, and I think you should let me get you off."

Pete's tried it before. Gabi heard all about it, and she's not exactly itching for Pete to recreate that disaster in her pants. But on the other hand, it might be okay, might be good even from the way Pete's biting her lip and turning pink, and her thing with Pete is solid. It's not going to break from some bad sex. Also, Gabi's getting wet, and Pete's hot, and there's only so much self-control meditation can give.

"Okay," says Gabi finally and sprawls in her seat, spreading her legs. She knows she looks like an asshole, but she goes all in. She doesn't know how to do anything else. "Go for it."

She's sure Pete's going to back out, but Pete gets off the sofa and drops to her knees in front of her. She's red all the way down to the thorn tat, but she snakes her fingers up the leg of Gabi's shorts anyway and strokes her through her panties, pressing harder over Gabi's clit.

"Fuck," Gabi mutters and unzips her shorts. "Get 'em off me."

Pete pulls the shorts down and touches Gabi again. "Fuck, you're so wet," Pete whispers. "You're wetter than me."

Fuck. "It works better if you rub it, dude," says Gabi. "Go hard, vibrators ruined soft and gentle for me back in junior high."

Pete glares at her through her bangs. "I fucking know," she bites out and takes a deep breath, pushing the fabric of Gabi's panties aside. "Okay."

Pete bends her head down to lick a firm stripe over Gabi's clit and Gabi bites her lip, trying to be quiet and listen for the door. Fuck, Pete's mouth is hot and soft. "A little harder, Petey, c'mon," she whispers. "Do it."

"Did vibrators ruin oral for you too?" Pete says dryly and licks Gabi again, gaining confidence as Gabi gets more and more breathless.

"Fuck, _fuck_ , I can't believe you fucking say you don't do pussy, you asshole," Gabi chokes out and clenches her hands in Pete's hair that's brushing softly against Gabi's thighs. "It's like your mouth was fucking made for this."

Pete moans and buries her face between Gabi's thighs, pushing the shorts all the way down to the floor and slinging one of Gabi's legs over her shoulder. Gabi throws her head back, banging it against the wall and chanting, "Make me come, Petey, do it, fucking _do it_ , right there, _please_."

Pete _sucks_ and Gabi cries out, shuddering and coming, holding Pete's face against her clit through it, and only letting go when Pete makes a protesting noise.

Pete sits back, her ass resting on her calves and chest heaving, looking up and Gabi with her face shiny-wet and red. "Was that up to your demanding standards?"

Pete's smiling, but Gabi knows she's worried behind it. "The Uruguayan judge gives you a 9.0. Deduction for not being able to touch your tits."

"Oh," Pete sighs, smile growing wider. She pulls her tank top down until her breasts pop out of the top, and crawls on top of Gabi. "Bet I can make you change your mind."


	4. Patrick+Travie (gen) crossdressing, pg

Patrick doesn't think about it that much anymore. He's been doing it for years. So when he wears his everyday things, that doesn't have that edge anymore, not like when he started doing it as a kid, jerking off quietly in the bathroom between tours just from getting his cheap white panties out of their hidden place.

Which is why it's a surprise when Travie says, "What's that?" in the dressing room after the radio set. Patrick looks down at himself and realizes that he's sweated through his shirt and Travie can totally see the lace trim of his cami through the damp fabric.

"That's a camisole," Patrick throws over his shoulder and continues packing his stuff away.

"A girl camisole." Not a question.

Patrick turns around. Travie just looks curious. "There's no other kind, last I checked."

Travie sighs. "Don't be a dick, bro."

"Are _you_ going to be a dick?" asks Patrick mildly.

Travie glances at the door, to make sure it's closed, maybe, and pulls down the waistband of his jeans. It's just for a moment, but that's clearly a flash of blue lace.

Patrick only becomes aware that his mouth is hanging open when Travie laughs and touches his jaw with two fingers, gently pushing up until Patrick's mouth closes with a snap.

Patrick has to sit down. "How come I didn't know this about you?"

Travie shrugs. "I could ask the same about you. But as for me, well..."

Patrick can finish that for him. "It's just not a big deal," he says, smiling, and Travie smiles back.


	5. Pete/Gabe amnesia, pg

Gabe rings the doorbell a few minutes early because he managed to hit green lights and no traffic all the way to Pete's house despite leaving his hotel later than he meant. He still doesn't know how to dress for the LA climate.

Pete opens the door and Gabe immediately knows something is wrong because Pete's smile isn't right. It's a stranger-smile.

"Hey," says Pete. "Are you here about the bike?"

Gabe stares.

"Are you putting your shoes on?" Pete shouts into the house. "Sorry," he says, turning back to Gabe. "I'm taking my kid to the park. You want to see the bike? It's a good bike, I just think it hates me. I keep falling off."

"Your bike hates you?" asks Gabe. He doesn't know about this. They really had been busy. "Wait." That was not the key point in what Pete just said. "What bike, Pete, we were going to hang out and watch Finding Nemo, remember?"

Pete just... shuts down. Gabe's seen that before, too, but never directed at him. "Okay, this is creepy. You should go."

Gabe is so stunned he watches the door start its inevitable swing towards his face without complaint, when a little blond blur runs up to him with a shriek of delight and slams into his knees. Gabe grabs the door frame and screws up his eyes in anticipation of fingers-in-door agony, but it doesn't come, because Pete's holding onto the door and trying to pry Bronx away.

"B, dude, come here." Pete sounds calm but Gabe can hear the panic under it. "Let go."

Bronx holds Gabe's knees tighter and looks between Gabe and Pete with glee in his eyes. "Uncle Gabe is here, Daddy!"

Pete frowns. "Who?"

An hour later, they're on the couch, Bronx safely tucked against Pete's other side but beaming at Gabe. Gabe is still sick to his stomach and Pete is still flipping through photos on his phone while Bronx is helpfully narrating.

Pete nods his head to the litany of "the time we saw monkeys" and "the time Uncle Gabe came over and you made waffles, Daddy" and keeps throwing little confused looks at Gabe. It's like they're at a party and Pete just can't quite remember Gabe's face, can't remember meeting him before, and it makes Gabe want to fucking throw up on Pete's ugly, stain-friendly living room carpet.

Finally, Gabe says, "Any of this jogging your memory?"

Pete shakes his head. "I believe you, but I can't remember you. Why can't I remember you?" He shoves his phone into Gabe's face. "Look at this one. We're, like..."

"Brothers," says Gabe hollowly. "We're family."

"You can't forget Uncle Gabe, Daddy," Bronx pipes up. "I love Uncle Gabe."

Gabe is seriously contemplating going into the bathroom and hanging over the toilet for a while and throwing up until Pete throws him out. The only thing stopping him is how miserable and confused Pete looks.

"How do I remember Uncle Gabe?" asks Pete. He rubs his hand over his face. He looks exhausted. Gabe wants to put him down for a nap and crawl into bed next to him. "How do I remember you again?"

"You should kiss him," says Bronx. "That's how they fix things in cartoons."

Pete laughs unhappily and shrugs. "You're the boss, duder," he says, putting his hand on Gabe's cheek and brushing their lips together.

Gabe hears a little desperate noise and thinks maybe he made it, and kisses back until Pete pulls away. Pete's mouth is wet and his eyes are round and appalled.

"Gabe," he says, and Gabe sags against Pete's side in relief. "B, put on Finding Nemo, okay? We're gonna watch it with Uncle Gabe like we planned."

Bronx runs over to the TV. "You're never, ever doing that again," Gabe whispers angrily.

Pete clutches Gabe's hand. "You're never leaving here. You're going to stay here forever with us."

Gabe's planning on it.


	6. Gerard/Mikey truth or dare, pg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: incest.

They've never played truth or dare together, because there's no truth only one of them knows, and no dare they care to give each other. But on tour, with other people in the mix, shit happens.

Gerard and Mikey are lying on some grass, away from the buses and not too close to the wire fence keeping the kids out. It's just barely dusk. The sky's more pink than blue. Gerard hasn't been going outdoors much this tour - the bus doors shut the booze and pills out - but for once it's a relatively cool evening, and Mikey asked.

"I'm scared," Mikey whispers. "I'm supposed to tell you a truth."

"You're scared because you're supposed to tell me the truth?" Gerard understands that. He tells the truth to his therapist every week. It's hard.

Mikey shakes his head - rolls it on the grass, rather, rubbing road dust into his hair. "Not the truth, _a_ truth. Pete dared me to tell someone a truth. He said I've been too quiet. So I picked you."

Gerard's head hurts. Maybe it's the fresh air. "Why did he tell you to tell someone _else_ a truth?"

"Because I picked dare, not truth." The unspoken "keep up" is deafening.

"Oh." Gerard turns his head to look at Mikey and a clover bumps his lips, shaking more road dust onto his mouth. At this point in the tour, they're covered in it. "Do I even count for truth-telling purposes?"

"Pete didn't say you were off-limits."

Gerard nods. Pete wouldn't know. "So what are you scared of?" he asks, blowing on the clover to get it away from his face.

"I only had to tell one truth."

Gerard wants to prod at it until Mikey gives in, but Mikey wouldn't let him argue with the terms of the dare, so Gerard pets his hip because that's the only part of Mikey he can reach without painful contortions.

Mikey lets out a very quiet sigh. It sounds like it hurts. Mikey inches a little closer and says, "Okay, I'll tell you one more," and touches his lips to Gerard's. He doesn't pull back, just stays there, not really kissing him, just... touching.

"Still?" Gerard asks, mumbling it against Mikey's lips.

Mikey pulls back, finally. His glasses are so smudged Gerard can't see his eyes. "Yeah."

"You really don't tell me everything important," says Gerard, trying to think but just coming up with _wow_. This isn't new, but not old either. It's more like buried. Dead, he'd thought. "I should definitely count for truth-telling purposes in the future."

"Okay," says Mikey, rolling away. "I'm going. Sorry."

"Wait!" Gerard grabs Mikey by the edge of his t-shirt. He barely catches the edge, but grips hard, and the only reason Mikey doesn't pull away is that the t-shirt is his favorite. "Don't go, fuck."

Mikey sighs in exasperation but settles back onto the grass. "Please let's not talk about it."

"But--"

"I already told you everything."

Gerard props himself up on his elbows and leans over Mikey, looking at his pursed lips and scrunched-up face. Gerard stays still, just looking, until Mikey's face unscrunches. "You're hovering like a UFO. Stop being weird."

Gerard whispers, "Okay," and leans down slowly to kiss Mikey back.


	7. Gerard+Mikey (gen) telepathy, pg

"Hey," comes Mikey's voice and the door slams. The smell of coffee, faint as it is through styrofoam, makes Frank sit up. "I bought you more fake milk."

Frank pauses the movie and frowns. He'd put the carton back in the fridge when he finished it the night before. He definitely hadn't asked Mikey to buy more, and Mikey's not attentive that way. But Mikey also brought donuts, and Frank forgets to ask.

* * *

"Like this?" Mikey asks and plays the riff. It's messy; Ray's definitely going to have to make him practice it, but it's exactly what Ray had in mind, the rhythm that's been bouncing around in his mind for the past hour.

"How did you do that?" Ray had explained what he wanted, but Gerard's face seemed to indicate that he hadn't done a great job.

Mikey shoots him a tiny pleased smile that's far from an answer and plays the riff again, sticking his tongue out in concentration. It comes out better.

* * *

"How the _fuck_ do you keep winning at Go Fish?" Frank demands, slamming his hand down on the popcorn-strewn lounge floor and glaring at Gerard.

Gerard tries to look innocent, but he has tells. Frank knows.

Ray looks mad too. He points his finger at Gerard accusingly. "You're cheating. And _you_ \--" he says, the pitch of his voice rising rapidly, "you, Mikey Way, know exactly what he's doing."

Frank follows Ray's arm, which is oscillating between the two Ways like a compass needle going haywire, until he gets dizzy. Ray's totally right, Mikey definitely knows what's up. On anyone else, it would be an expression of mild concern, but he can't fool Frank. Mikey's doing the equivalent of burying his face in his hands.

"Um," says Gerard.

"How are you doing it? Honesty is the key to successful communication," Frank points out, pushing Gerard over and nodding at Ray. Ray looks briefly confused but gets with the program quickly, holding down Gerard's arms so Frank can sit on top of Gerard without getting scratched to death.

"Okay, okay," Gerard squeaks. He looks at Mikey pleadingly, but Mikey looks kind of mad at Gerard too. Frank can't wait to hear this story. "Frank, get _off_ , fucker, you're going to break my dick!"

"Yeah, I am, if you don't start talking."

Gerard huffs like the weight of the world, not just Frank, is crushing him. "Okay, whatever. I can read your mind. Mikey can, too," he says, looking at Mikey darkly. Mikey glares back.

"You can read our minds?" says Ray with horror. "What am I thinking right now?"

"Balls," Mikey and Gerard say in unison.

"Get out," says Ray.

Gerard rolls his eyes and yelps when Frank rocks forward. "Ow, stop. Look, we tune out everything but the surface thoughts. The surface ones are impossible not to hear."

"It's genetic," adds Mikey reluctantly.

"That's your rationale for cheating at Go Fish?" Frank demands.

"I usually lose on purpose. I just kind of forgot this time." This time, Gerard's eyes are shining with honesty. "I usually use my power for good, I swear."

Frank crawls off Gerard and Gerard cups his dick protectively. "Do you really lose on purpose?"

Gerard nods vigorously. "I try really hard."

"That's... really sweet of you, Gee," Frank says, touched, and Gerard beams at him.

"That explains a lot," Ray says, looking at Mikey thoughtfully.

Mikey ducks his head. "We're just like that. Sorry."

Gerard looks worriedly at Mikey and furrows his eyebrows, and Mikey slowly relaxes.

Frank exchanges looks with Ray and launches himself at his bandmates. Ray doesn't need to read his mind to sling an arm around each Way and pull them in for a hug, and Frank doesn't need telepathy to feel their relief.


	8. Frank/Mikey huddling for warmth, pg

Frank made it through the show okay and insisted on coming out to sign after, so Mikey sighed and went with him, just to keep an eye on him. Frank's not really sick anymore, but he still feels like crap. Mikey's never met anyone else who got the chills at the tail end of a cold. Frank's special that way.

Mikey's letting Frank do most of the work because he can't stop surreptitiously watching Frank's face. He's pale and there are circles under his eyes. It makes Mikey's whole face hurt to watch Frank's teeth chatter.

Frank is still cold hours later. He's curled up on the bus lounge couch and pretending he's just fine, but he's shivering so hard that his book is vibrating in his lap. Gerard and Ray had already gone to bed, throwing dark looks at Mikey like it was Mikey's fault Frank had insisted on staying out in the cold for a million years. Like Mikey can make Frank do anything.

Mikey replies to a few texts and puts his phone away, looking at Frank intently. Frank ignores him and continues reading his book. Both of his hoods are up and the blanket is covering him up to the nose, but he's still flipping pages with fingers that are starting to look kind of bluish. 

Mikey's not a health care expert, but he's pretty sure that's not supposed to happen, so he rolls his eyes and says, "Okay, I'm putting you to bed." 

"Too cold to go to bed," Frank says and turns a page. "You go, I'm fine." 

Mikey grabs the edge of the blanket and pulls it off Frank. 

"What the fuck?" Frank yelps and starts coughing. 

"You're shivering, dude. Get up," says Mikey and pulls Frank up, steering him toward the bunks. Frank barely resists, and Mikey easily maneuvers him into his bunk. "You owe me," he says, kneeling and pulling off Frank's shoes. 

"Yeah, yeah," says Frank woozily and pulls his pants off. 

He crawls into the bunk in the two hoodies and his boxers. Mikey's going to have to do everything around here. He unzips and peels off Frank's top hoodie and covers Frank with the blanket. Frank is more relaxed now and his eyes are closed, but there's still a faint shiver running through him. 

Mikey studies Frank's face and tries to figure out what to do next. He's about to go to the kitchen and find some hot water and a clean thermos, or maybe just steal Ray's hot water bottle, when two cold but thankfully flesh-colored fingers hook into his waistband and pull him in, tipping him into the bunk. 

"Oof," Frank grunts when Mikey accidentally lands on top of him. "I didn't think that through." 

"Nope," says Mikey. "Are you okay?"

Frank nods. "Stay here? You're pretty warm and you don't need all your body heat, right?"

"I was going to find you a hot water bottle," says Mikey, but he unzips his own hoodie and burrows in close to Frank. "What was the martyr act tonight about, huh?"

Frank takes a deep shaky breath and puts his hands on Mikey's waist. They're cold even though Mikey's t-shirt, and Mikey shivers and breathes and tries to relax, to let the cold in without complaint. 

"Wanted them to go to bed, I guess." Frank is so quiet, Mikey has to hold his breath to hear him. "I could feel how warm you were where you were sitting." 

Mikey frowns and pulls back to look at Frank's face. "What are you saying?"

Frank pulls Mikey back in and buries his face in Mikey's neck. He's already so much warmer. "I don't know what I'm saying at all." Frank laughs quietly and Mikey feels goosebumps rise under Frank's lips. "I'm so cold. Warmer now with you, though," he adds and presses in closer, pushing Mikey into the wall and wrapping his arms around Mikey's waist under the hoodie.

"Oh," says Mikey, even though he doesn't understand at all. He kisses the top of Frank's head and lets Frank box him in, lets Frank fall asleep on him even though Frank's too warm now for it to be comfortable. He has the whole day tomorrow to ask questions.


End file.
